BLISS IN THE AVO BELT
T he name avocado comes from the ancient Aztec word for the fruit
auhacatl, which means testicle, because of its shape. I guess it gives us some historical perspective on what shape testicles the Aztecs had. They considered the avocado a fertility fruit and the oldest evidence of its use was found in a cave in Coxcatlan in Puebla, Mexico, dating back to 10 000BC.
By the time Columbus “discovered” America the avocado had spread — as it does so well — to the north of the continent and south as far as Peru. It was introduced to the West Indies in the early 16th century and arrived in Agatha, South Africa, in the late 19th century, liked it here and stayed.
Agatha is a small subtropical district outside Tzaneen in Limpopo, set against the northern Drakensberg mountains. It has the perfect climate for avocado trees and they’re everywhere. The hills, slopes and valleys are lined, braided, studded and contoured. You can hear the avocados growing, the hum of a magical combination of the elements of sun, soil and rain, producing fruit by the ton. Did I mention I live here? Agatha is the heart of avocado country, home to massive farms and the country’s biggest producer, Westfalia. There are farms, plantations, and a stateof-the-art packhouse called Katopé.
It may be winter but in our hearts it’s spring because, as I write this, it is avocado season and Agatha is alive with abundance. The plantations are chatty with pickers, buzzing with tractors, our mountain roads creak with avocado-filled trucks; the dorp’s shops, markets and pavements bulge with avocados.
There’s a political element of course — the export beauties are sent off to the markets of Europe, the local trade is driven by supermarket giants and the lowest grade are traded in local villages off the back of bakkies.
But you can be sure of one thing and that’s here in the Avo Belt we are all pigging out on as many avocados as we can — rich farmers, poor peasants, municipal workers, domestics, children, dogs, cats, monkeys. Woollies sells ripe-and-ready packs at a price, but the markets sell them for a song. The workers scrape them out in one go and eat with white bread and atjar; the farmers’ wives whip out their recipe books and try things like Crusty Stuffed Avocado, Creamed Avocado Puffs and Grand Marnier Avocado Crepes.
We are lucky to have a neighbour who drops off a box or three of the best export avocados for us, and I harvest from about six trees — which means there are avocados at every meal, at every turn, in every packet, bowl, drawer and cupboard. What a glorious thing it is, the advance of the avo. Let me count the ways. Mmm, actually I don’t think that’s possible. I’ve made just about every conceivable recipe with avos and can’t imagine how many I’ve eaten. I think about four yesterday?
I’m happiest with a light avocado soup or a simple avocado half with lemon juice and a dash of soy sauce. I use avocado like butter on everything — potatoes, sweet potatoes, aubergine, cauliflower, toast. But I have been known in my camper moments to make a French Avocado Gateau and even a Chocolate Avocado Swirl.